Anew
by bravevulnerability
Summary: 'It shouldn't feel like he had abandoned her. She hadn't even wanted him around to begin with.' A post 2x05 AU for New Year's.


**A/N: I hope you all have a beautiful New Year's!**

* * *

Kate fidgets nervously in the back of the grimy yellow cab, senselessly swiping loose strands of dark curls from her cheeks and twisting her hands in her lap like some nervous teenager. Her dress is fitting, not tight, but it feels like she's trapped in it, breathing shallow and unsteady through her nostrils.

This is ridiculous.

A large part of her is tempted to tell the cabbie to just turn around, because this was such a mistake. She still isn't sure why she had accepted the invitation in the first place, why he would even want her at the party where he would be promoting his new book about a fantastic British spy that had mattered more than Nikki Heat ever had, ever would.

Maybe he'd just sent her an invitation to be polite.

A pity invite. Great.

No, Kate sighs and shakes her head, forces her bobbing knee to still, she doesn't believe he would do that. He wouldn't have invited her if he really didn't want her to attend. He had probably just added her name to the list on a whim, figuring she wouldn't show. Yeah, that was more plausible.

She glances outside her window, hoping the steady flow of city lights flying by might ease her flipping stomach, but all too soon the blur of lights and the speed of the cab is coming to a stop in front of the five star venue with crowds of fans and paparazzi alike swarming the sidewalks.

The nausea returns quicker than it had left, rushing through her stomach like butterflies with barbed wire wings, ripping her apart; she is _so_ out of her element.

"Have a nice time tonight and a happy new year, sweetheart," the cabbie mutters around a cigarette after she hands him a few bills from her clutch, ignoring his halfhearted wishes as she emerges from the vehicle.

The frigid December air kisses her neck as her ride speeds away, slips through her hair to bite at her ears, sneak beneath the trench coat she tugs a little tighter around her torso. She makes an attempt brace herself before she steps out onto the red carpet that leads to those shimmering hotel doors, pushing down the irrational nerves; she's here as an old friend to show support, and to avoid the precinct's New Year's Eve celebration at the Twelfth.

Montgomery had forced her to take the night off after she'd been working two weeks straight and as much as she loved her family at the Twelfth, she wasn't going to spend it drinking cheap champagne in the station with Lanie while her friend made eyes at Esposito.

After too many moments of standing on the sidewalk, clinging to her clutch with both hands and trying not to shake in the chilly night air, Kate finally starts forward, allowing a man in a suit holding a clipboard to take her name.

The press catches notice, someone hears her name, and then the madness begins.

" _It's Nikki Heat!_ "

Kate strides through the sea of flashes and shouted questions without sparing a glance for the demanding calls of the paparazzi, her head down and her gaze trained on the blur of red beneath her heels. She had almost forgotten about this part, the uncomfortable agony of walking down a carpet on her own with people screaming her name. Well, her retired character's name.

It reminds her once more that this was Castle's world, one she had never fit into, never belonged in.

Kate exhales a huff of relief once she reaches the entrance, her nervous system still tingling with anxiety, but not nearly as bad. She can do this. She can stand around and drink a glass of champagne, chat with a slew of wealthy attendees, and pretend she belongs until midnight. And maybe she would catch of glimpse of Castle before the ball dropped.

She secretly hopes she can catch more than just a glimpse, though.

It's been over a year since he had left and she had heatedly denied it to everyone, including herself, but it was pointless to deny it now.

She had missed him.

Things weren't nearly as… _fun_ since he had left the precinct, left her. Every once in a while, when they caught a difficult case, she was tempted to call him, text him an address just to see if he'd show. They no longer worked together, but that didn't mean they had to completely become strangers, yet every time she found his contact in her phone, a strike of hurt surged through her system like a match being lit, the flame spreading quickly enough to burn away the ache of missing him, convince her to put the phone down.

It wasn't as if she had loved him. No, it had been too soon for that, but she believed that maybe in time that she _could_ have loved Richard Castle, that he could have loved her back.

Kate bypasses the elegant hotel's lobby and rides the elevator to the roof, where the attendee at the door had instructed her to go after he had found her name on the list, and she smirks to herself at the memory of his first book launch party that she had attended. At least she was coming voluntarily this time, as a guest instead of a detective seeking him for questioning.

Though, she'd probably feel far less nervous if that were the case.

The doors slide open and before she can venture out onto the square roof of the building, she's colliding with someone, catching the other person by the arms, and taking an immediate step back before she can stumble.

"Oh my goodness, I'm so very… Katherine?" Martha Rodgers exclaims, catching Kate by the hands and blinding her with a brilliant smile. "What a pleasant surprise!"

"Hi Martha," she replies, unable to help the returning smile that blooms for his mother, for the older woman who greets her with such warmth in her sparkling - and slightly hazy - eyes. "You look beautiful."

"Oh, and darling, _you_ look ravishing!" his mother praises, squeezing Kate's fingers. "Richard is going to be absolutely blown away. Ah, what a pity! If I'd known you would be here, I would have just told Chet to meet me here."

"You're leaving?" Kate inquires, just a little disappointed by the news. Martha Rodgers could be… a lot, but it would have been nice, a comfort, to have someone she knew in attendance.

"I'm meeting my boyfriend at his place for New Year's," Martha explains with a wink. "Like I said, I would have just invited him to this little shindig, but…" his mother glances over her shoulder to the rooftop Kate has yet to see and lowers her voice before she continues. "It's a bit drab. But now that _you're_ here, there's a wonderful chance this party may finally get started. For Richard at least."

Kate nearly chokes.

"Don't worry, darling," Martha chuckles, patting Kate on the shoulder as she steps inside the lift, trading places and nudges Beckett out onto the floor. "And don't do anything I wouldn't do."

The last thing she sees is the grin on Martha's vibrant red lips, the wink of her eye, before the doors to the elevator close and Kate is left alone once more, thoroughly confused. And strangely eager to see him, find out what Martha meant by 'for Richard at least'.

But her attention is momentarily stolen from her mission as she scans her eyes across the scene, taking inventory of her surroundings - the perfect view of Times Square in the distance, the massive ball glowing and colorful atop the Times Tower. Castle's books were the main attraction atop this building, though, sitting in the middle of the vast space on a platform and organized in an impressively tall pyramid style that nearly reached the twinkling lights strung up along the transparent canvas covering the roof like a tent, keeping the area warm.

Kate remains on the sidelines, observing the rich leather couches of multiple, vibrant colors that were pushed to the sides of the rooftop, the DJ playing music through loud speakers not too far from the elevator's entrance, and the open bar set up at the far end of the roof. She realizes rather quickly the bar was receiving far more attention than the books and that this wasn't Castle's style. At least, it hadn't been a year ago.

His last book party had been refined, tasteful, this… felt forced and flashy. Even for him.

Kate smooths down the soft fabric of her dress as she makes her way towards the stack of novels in the center of the roof, feeling her chest tighten at the familiar sight of his name in bold letters, deflating a little at the reminder that this isn't Derrick Storm, isn't Nikki Heat. She likes Bond, who doesn't? But he wasn't a character that had taken root in her heart, not like Castle's others.

Of course she wants to support his success with the new book, but being replaced had left her with one hell of a sting that never fails to make itself known.

He had left her, and their partnership, as if it had meant nothing to him, for something better and who could blame him? He had given her a friendly handshake once they had solved their last case together and then he had walked away without looking back. She doesn't _want_ to resent him for it, she wants to be happy for him, but the ache remains, one she can't even understand, lurking in her heart.

It shouldn't feel like he had abandoned her. She hadn't even wanted him around to begin with.

* * *

Castle nurses his scotch at the bar for a long while, watching the giant clock overhead tick on. It was nearing eleven o'clock and he's grateful - despite Paula's extreme (and loud) disappointment – that the turnout for his special, New Year's Eve book launch party had brought in only a fraction of the number of invitations sent out. He much rather would have spent the night alone in his loft, sulking in solitude, but at least he didn't have to play up his excitement for the book, the holiday, too much tonight.

If Alexis were here, he would have tried harder, but he didn't blame her for starting the new year in California, using the holiday as a chance to explore the stomping grounds for Stanford.

He downs another sip of his drink, definitely not looking forward to seeing his baby bird off to a school across the country in the upcoming fall.

"Richard," Gina grits out through her teeth, stepping in between bar stools to drape a hand atop his forearm, spearing him with a smile that is both brilliant and threatening. "You have one more hour to salvage your image, so stop pouting at the bar by yourself and start working the crowd."

"What crowd?" he mutters, huffing when Gina reaches for his glass, steals the scotch for herself.

"Maybe you'd have a more sizeable audience if your company was actually appealing these days," she muses, gingerly placing the glass back onto the surface of the bar, but narrowing her gaze on him.

He still regrets inviting Gina to the Hamptons last summer, hoping to rid his mind of one woman by filling it with another, but his publisher's company had only made it worse, stretched the hollow space inside of him wider.

It was foolish to hope, but one of his few motivations in dragging himself to this event tonight had been to witness whether or not his last minute invitation had been worth anything, to know with certainty whether or not Kate Beckett would show.

"Don't forget, Paula is sneaking a couple of photographers in before midnight," Gina whispers as he stands from the bar, sucking in a silent breath before turning towards the clusters of people claiming the rooftop in fancy tuxes and glamorous party dresses. "So make sure you have someone to kiss, got it?"

Rick rolls his eyes, pretends not to notice the not so subtle wink his second ex-wife shoots him, and plasters on a fake smile that makes his cheeks hurt.

* * *

Beckett doesn't recognize anyone for the first half hour, meandering through the clusters of people, gaining a few second glances and lingering gazes, a handsome man with chocolate hair and a charming smile making a point of eyeing her from his place at the bar. It's a pleasant surge to her confidence, to be eyed from across the floor by an attractive attendee, even if it wasn't by the pair of blue eyes she wanted on her, but there was still time.

Thirty minutes left, to be precise.

Kate cuts her eyes to the bar, debating a drink, and fidgeting with the strap of her clutch, gold to match her heels, suddenly wishing she had gone with the simple black cocktail dress she'd already had in her closet instead of the piece she had specifically gone out to buy last night, when she'd made the stupid decision to show up.

The red, Herve Leger bandage dress clings to her well, reaches just above her knees and ventures into the valley of her breasts. The tousled curls of her hair caress her bared shoulders while her coat is being held for the night, black eyeliner with just a hint of glitter framing her eyes, bringing out the specks of gold. It's all quite reminiscent of her last appearance at one of his book parties; may as well keep tradition.

Lanie had teased her the second she'd found out Kate was going, bet her next paycheck that tonight would be the night she'd would finally "get her freak on with writer boy", but Beckett still isn't even sure if she intends to speak to him tonight, if she'll even have the opportunity. Not to mention there was always the possibility that Castle had found someone new.

She had read something in the Ledger about him reuniting with his "ex-wife slash publisher" that had made her stomach churn a few months ago and that alone was enough to dash away any trifling hope that had secretly festered for the two of them ever reuniting as more than coworkers, more than friends.

She finally plucks one of the books from the pyramid after merely eyeing them for too long and brushes her fingers over the shiny new cover, an involuntary smile tugging at her lips while she flips the book open. At least she still has his words; at least she could never lose those.

Kate turns through the first few pages until she lands on the dedication, wondering who had received the great honor this time. It's so utterly pathetic, but she braces herself for it, reminds and reasons with herself that she has no place in his life, in his novels, any longer, but – as petty as it feels – if she sees another woman's name, she may have to leave early.

She takes a deep breath, reads the words on the page-

 _To the real Nikki Heat. Your story is far from finished._

* * *

He pauses once he's only halfway across the room, his brow furrowing at the sight of the figure draped in red, the soft brown curls tumbling to her shoulders, the book cradled to her hands.

It's deja vu in the best way possible, confirmed when he bounces on his toes to see over the tilt of her head and notices the fine, familiar print of the dedication page.

Only Kate Beckett would linger on the otherwise nonsensical words, only she would stare down at them with such gentle awe.

She came.

Castle's heartbeat kicks, sends him stumbling forward, and he has to take a breath, ensure that his lungs are functioning before he makes a fool of himself. That's always pretty inevitable when it comes to her, though, isn't it?

But it doesn't matter; it's been a year since he last saw her and Kate Beckett still came to his book launch party.

* * *

Kate doesn't realize her lips have parted until she's biting down on the bottom one and closing the book.

He had dedicated a book to her, an entire book, again. Her heart stutters as she opens it again like an idiot, scrambles back to the page to read it once more, just to be sure, chest clenching at the mention of Nikki, of her.

Not what she had been expecting. Not at all.

It had surprised her when he'd done the same in Heat Wave, but this was different. This was a completely different book, a different series, not tied to her at all, and it felt so out of place seeing her name - her character's name - in a James Bond novel.

She settles the book back to its place on the pyramid and pivots to leave, only to run right into the man of the hour.

"Beckett." Her name falls from his lips on a soft exhale as he catches her retreating form by the elbows, offers her a smile infused with surprise and far too much warmth, his eyes twinkling like the lights overhead. "You came."

Kate swallows, attempting to buy herself a moment to conjure up a decent response, any response, while she takes a step back, away from the heat of his palms on her skin and the pleasant scent of his cologne.

"Hey, Castle," she murmurs, her own smile breaking free to match his, a laugh catching in her throat as his eyes shine even brighter. "Nice party."

He shrugs and let his eyes roam subtly up and down her body.

"Nice dress. Stunning, really."

She ducks her head to hide the blush his words evoke, unprepared for the way a simple compliment gets to her, but there's the sincerity in his voice, a touch of reverence swimming in the cerulean of his eyes, causing the volume of how much she had missed him grow louder.

"You look good," she states, her voice steady, fairing far better than she currently is.

"You look good, too. Really good. Wow, Kate."

Shit, he was going to make her cheeks turn the color of her dress.

"How are you?" she asks, hoping to divert his attention away from her, hoping to witness his face come alive with excitement as he regaled her with tales of his new success story. But that isn't what she gets.

Castle glances down to his shoes, some of the light leaving his eyes, and in that split second, she takes notice of how much older he appears, how much more exhausted, unhappy. It wasn't obvious - a few extra lines around his eyes and mouth, a dull smudge of darkness under his eyes, a tiredness in him that he had not possessed before.

Concern trickles through her chest, foreign but fierce, and she extends her hand, brushes a tentative hand to his wrist.

"Rick?" His eyes snap back to her at the sound of his first name slipping from her mouth, flickering down to the tips of her fingers on his skin. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I just… Do you want to go somewhere else?"

She purses her lips for a second, but it's the first appealing idea that's been presented to her all night.

"Sure."

Castle surprises her by stealing her hand from his arm, loosely intertwining their fingers as they meander through the crowd with their heads down. She isn't sure where he's leading her, but it's too late to turn back now and she isn't letting go.

They bypass the guard at the rooftop's entrance without a second glance, but instead of entering the elevator like she had anticipated, Castle guides her down a hallway, towards a stairwell that descends past a few floors, down to a dimly lit landing with a single door that he pushes open for her. The journey to their unknown destination is silent, something else she was not at all used to where Richard Castle is concerned, but after a short walk down another hallway, they're met with a second door, this one glass.

"I scoped the place out a few hours earlier," he murmurs, leading her through the door and shutting it softly behind her, releasing her hand, much to her disappointment. "I figured I might need a place to breathe if it became too much up there."

He inclines his head towards the roof above them, the noise she can hear radiating through the night air and – since when was schmoozing with the wealthy too much for him?

"I thought that was your kind of scene," Kate points out, watching him, trying to understand this newer, less polished version of a man she had once felt so close to knowing, to peeling away the layers of.

"Maybe it was before, but not so much anymore," he sighs, bracing his elbows on the concrete railing and staring down onto the busy street below.

The wind shudders around them, a weak breeze of brisk December air, and she shivers out of reflex. Castle notices, of course, still noticing every move she makes, and straightens from his place against the balcony, sheds his blazer, and draped it over her bare shoulders.

"Shit, I should have let you grab your coat," he mumbles, holding the fabric steady for her while she slides her arms through.

Kate waves him off, shrugs deeper into the warmth of his suit jacket, grateful for the cover to her freezing skin, the scent of his deodorant clinging to the material.

"Looks better on you anyway," he answers with a wink, straightening the lapels and brushing his thumbs along her exposed collarbones before quickly retracting his hands.

But her skin still burns with the memory of his touch, her bones suddenly branded, and she's no longer sure if coming out here with him is the biggest or best mistake she's made since he left a year ago.

* * *

Kate inquires about Alexis, mentions her brief meeting with his mother upon arrival, and he questions her about work, the caseload, Ryan and Esposito, asks about her Christmas, apologizes when she informs him that she no longer celebrates the holiday. But she does tell him about a recent case where Santa had been stabbed to death by one of his elves that lifts the tension and has him missing the Twelfth with a fierce intensity all over again.

By the time they've caught up on small talk, eased from awkward exchanges to a familiar level of comfort, his phone chimes with an alert from Gina.

 _Only five minutes to midnight. Where the hell are you?_

"Are you being summoned?" Kate questions with an arch of her eyebrow, but Rick shakes his head and shoves the phone back into the pocket of his dress pants, silences the device before withdrawing his hand.

"Just a reminder of the time."

She hums her acknowledgement, casts her eyes out to the city alive with anticipation beneath them. New York was always bursting with magic during this time of year, eager to spill over with excitement into the midnight hour, and usually, he'd be swept up in it, wearing one of the silly party hats littering the tables on the rooftop upstairs, preparing to toast to resolutions with champagne and share a kiss with a gorgeous woman.

This year, though, there's no place else he would rather be, nothing else he would rather be doing, than standing here with Kate Beckett when only hours ago, he had begun to accept he may never even see her again.

"So," she murmurs, leaning forward on the balcony's railing as he had earlier and hunching her shoulders. "That dedication."

He tries not to laugh at her, at how nervous she's become. He isn't used to this side of Kate Beckett, not at all. The insecurities, the uncertainty, the vulnerability – it is all the complete opposite of the woman he had worked with for close to a year. He likes it.

"Didn't like it?" he inquires, but she shakes her head.

"Didn't understand it."

He exhales long and heavy through his nose and stares down at his hands, wishing he could twine his fingers with hers again. Those cool, slender digits fit well between his.

"I miss Nikki Heat," he admits, training his eyes on the cars below, the flash of headlights and the clashing flares of ruby and emerald from the stoplight nearby, the ominous beam of the infamous ball above One Times Square, ready to drop in mere minutes and declare a new year. "I like writing Bond, it's been a dream of mine since I was a kid to write a character like that, but he's not… it's not the same."

She shifts a little closer and he pretends not to notice her proximity or the way the sweet but exotic scent of her perfume suddenly floods his senses, the way a subtle hint of cherries fills the air between them.

"I miss you writing Nikki Heat," she whispers, his ears straining to catch her soft words.

Castle angles himself towards her, abandoning his crutch of the balcony railing to stand straighter, but her face is turned away from him, nothing left but the sharp edge of her profile, half illuminated by the glow of the city. Stunning.

"Kate." He sighs and places a tentative hand to bone of her shoulder, too harsh and prominent for his liking, but she gives him her attention, mimicking him and rising up from her leaning position against the railing once she meets his eyes. "I know it's been over a year now and we haven't – I should have called, visited, something, but I've missed you. Really missed you."

The hand on her shoulder glides down to rest upon her hip, applying only a hint of pressure, but it's enough to have her drifting a fraction closer.

"You hardly knew me," she murmurs the reminder and lifts a hand to smooth along the collar of his shirt.

"I knew enough," he shrugs, receiving a doubtful look for it, but he covers her dancing fingers at his chest, holds her there. "Extraordinary, remember? I knew that much."

Her breath catches, subtle but sharp in her chest. "Castle-"

"I knew what I wanted."

"To get in my pants," she huffs, drawing a startled laugh from somewhere deep within his belly.

"Okay yes," he concedes, watching the amusement lace along her lips. "But that wasn't always the extent of it, Beckett."

The amusement falls away, a strange combination of hope and fear replacing it, rivaling for dominance in the ever changing pools of emerald and amber in her eyes, and he can see this moment for what it is. This is his chance, the first one he's had in a long while.

And he was damn well going to take it.

"I knew what I wanted," he repeats, feigning confidence as he draws her in closer, settling both hands on her waist. Her teeth pin her bottom lip, distracting him for a breath of a second, causing his already racing heartbeat to trip and stumble into his ribs. "It scared me sometimes, how much I wanted you. I wasn't ready for it then"

She steps closer, impossibly close, and allows her hands to migrate from his chest to the collar of his shirt, and then she nods, as if giving him the permission he wasn't even aware he had been seeking when his eyes flicker to her lips.

"And you think you are now?"

"I've had over a year to realize it, to _get_ ready," he informs her, grinning at the smirk flirting with the corners of her mouth.

"Then show me how much you want me, Castle," she husks the words like a challenge, her eyes half lidded and golden in the darkness, her lips parted and waiting.

He was done waiting.

"Actually, wait," she breathes, catching him with palms splayed over his chest, sealed against his beating heart, a smile tugging at her lips. "Ten more seconds."

And that's when he hears the countdown beginning, dwindling down from eleven to ten, to nine…

Castle cradles the defined angles of her jaw in his hands at eight, grazes his nose along the slash of her cheekbone by six, feels the heat of her breath stain his mouth at four.

"Happy New Year, Kate," he mumbles before the shout of two.

She's arching on the toes of her heels at one, sighing in what sounds like relief when he slants his mouth over hers the second celebrations begin to ring out through the city, savoring the soft flesh of her lips against his, the press of her body canting forward to meet him.

Cheers are erupting in the distance as she backs him up against the railing, her fingers skating through his hair and one of her legs coiling around his thigh while the heat of her tongue slicks along the seam of his lips until he opens for her on a moan, exalts in the fireworks her mouth so easily elicit.

"If this was what you - why'd you leave?" she whispers, breathing hard, but managing to snag his bottom lip with her teeth, and oh god, she's already going to kill him.

"I'm an idiot," he gets out, clenching his hands at her waist when she chuckles, feeling the sharp points of her hipbones stab into his palms. "And maybe a little scared too, like you."

" _Was_ ," she emphasizes, her hands gentling at the base of his skull, her palms cupping his nape, and yeah, this side of her had definitely been hidden away, far away from him throughout their year of working together. "Wasted too much time."

"Definitely," he murmurs, his chest expanding against hers, his heartbeat raging too fast for him to keep up. "You still scare me, Beckett."

Her thumbs stroke along the drumbeat of his pulse. "It's mutual."

A choked laugh escapes his mouth, falls against her lips and coaxes them into a smile. "Great foundation we've got going here."

"Mm, not off to too bad a start though," Kate mumbles, her eyes flickering back to his mouth and he feels a year's worth of need rushing to the surface all at once, all over again. "Not a bad start to a new year."

It's midnight, the streets are flooded with partygoers, but he isn't ready to tell her goodnight, to let her go. He has a new resolution, and that's to spend as much time with Kate Beckett as possible, to make up for time lost, and to kiss her again before this night is over.

"Do you want to get out of here? Go to dinner?" he asks, the same request he had made after their very first case together, but it's tentative hope blooming through his sternum this time, nerves and eager desire climbing his ribcage. But she surprises him, keeps surprising him, and lowers her hands to her sides, snagging his fingers from her waist.

Kate draws him along with her towards the balcony's entrance, hope as hesitant as his own shimmering in her eyes amidst the darkness of a night made new. "Let's go."


End file.
